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Sunday, August 27, 2017

I answered, "Totally," because I heard Josef. As in Grandpa Joe. Man of Steel. Stalin, Comrade the Ultimate.

It was only when I got up my car that I realized he meant Joseph Conrad.

Comrade is an asshole. A total bitch. She runs around barking at nothing about the virtues of destroying all property and I have to answer, "cut it out unless you want to go back into your crate," accidentally validating all of her high falutin ideals about whatever the fuck it is dog commies believe in.

She'll telegraph she wants to take a shit and I'll get up and take her out only to spend 20 minutes in the rain chasing her around as she barks at the ghosts of whatever Texas battle was fought here. She's fast. Take away the 's' and you have a good adjective for me.

It's probably good exercise chasing around this dog.

When she sees people she gets wild and excited and pees on their feet. There's no good way to say sorry for this to a stranger except to walk away and refuse to clean it up.

I've never had a pet before. Comrade is my first pet. I demanded it be a puppy or else I'd never love it. It's not that I thought dogs were disgusting before; I appreciate that they exist, it's just that I've never connected with an animal.

Puppies are cute. It's undeniable. I could love a puppy. And it'd grow into a dog so gradually that I wouldn't notice and I'd still love it as a puppy.

People who own dogs know this is some dumb ass logic. It's been hard to train a puppy. They were right. It's hard to understand a puppy. It's harder when it's teething. I'd have my hands full, they said.

They were right.

But I was right, too.

Because Comrade has pissed on my floor, shat on my floor, torn apart my pocket notebook, bit my fingers, scratched my legs, woken me up in the middle of the night, ruined our garden, and done any number of idiotic shit.

Deerman is going to be as long as it needs to be but I am also writing another novel that will be released "traditionally." Everything is a little screwy right now when it comes to our lives and creating and publishing and eating. We're all just trying to figure out what works. After Deerman is done, I plan on continuing the idea of serialized novellas/novels via podcast.

Friday, August 4, 2017

I may be the only person alive who has almost burned down their house while making cold brew. I'm taking my coffee game to the next level, nerds.

It's simple. I was using a criminally overpriced coffee sock and I needed to clean it. I put it in a pot of water to boil. Then I remembered that my life is worth much more than watching some fucking pot of water waiting for it to boil. The old adage says, "A watched pot never boils," so I put on my sweet gaming headphones and played a few rounds of Call of Duty before I heard the fire alarm go off and the scent of burning human intelligence in the kitchen.

"OH FUCK DUDE!" I yelled to my compatriot who was probably not listening to me.

I ran to the kitchen in my boxer shorts, shirtless, and my socks. The fire was in the pot. There was no water in the pot. It had already evaporated.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!"

I threw some water on the burned coffee sock, really regretting that I got the American flag design at that point, and the fire was gone.

Smoke filled the house. I opened every window. I grabbed a broom to help push the smoke out. I grabbed my cat to throw around to vent my frustrations.

I didn't make any cold brew for about a year after that.

Now, I have a new method.

HOW TO MAKE COLD BREW WITHOUT BURNING DOWN YOUR HOUSE OR SPENDING $10 ON A GLORIFIED PIECE OF CHEESE CLOTH

6. Pour the liquid out into another mason jar with the help of a wire strainer.

7. Voila! You have cold brew without burning down your whole fucking house.

Hopefully this helped you get through another day of monotony and everyone screaming about politics and whatever, whatever. I've been thinking a lot lately about our collective mania. High-powered cold brew should help fuel it.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Oh, God. Here we go again. This one might have a repeat but I am unsure because I'm too lazy to sift through my old posts. Look, I'm not Steve Bannon. I'm not sitting around trying to stuff a banana into the orange lodged up my ass, okay!?

They say they want to turn our town into a destination.

It's kind of weird that we gentrified all around this one guy's taco cart.

Now that I've killed your children in a display of my awesome power, I want you two to sift through my litter box again.

Help support the Deerman project by buying something from Amazon. It adds nothing to your total, it just gives us a sweet, sweet monetary kickback to keep this shows' wheels greased. You can get my latest book, Invasion of the Weirdos! http://amzn.to/2w1vfA9